


Dibs

by illumynare



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M, also a bunch of Blue Team feels, mentions of past Yorkalina and Wash/CT, plus a totally gratuitous Wash & Tucker hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-19 22:55:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11907915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illumynare/pseuds/illumynare
Summary: Wash has always wanted someone to choose him.





	Dibs

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @tuckerfuckingdidit for Wash's line about calling dibs. <3

"C'mon," says York, heedlessly confident, "it's not the same."

Wash stares at him. He's lost track of what York was talking about—but York always creates his own context, and Wash finds himself nodding along regardless.

They're in a dirtside bar on a backwater colony. Wash is on his second Cosmo, Maine and Connie are both on their fourth vodkas, York has had only one one beer, and Carolina—

Carolina has her hand pressed between York's shoulder blades, her mouth kissing his temple.

It doesn't matter what she has or hasn't drunk; what matters is whom she blesses with her attention. And it's York she chooses, York whose lap she sits on as she calls out, "Hey, give me a bourbon," and the bartender slides her the drink. She tosses it back and for a moment Wash sees the pale arc of her throat—

He isn't jealous. Right now, Wash is in love with Connie; when her hand finds his under the table a moment later, he squeezes back, and his heart thumps. Later that night on the _Mother of Invention,_ when the doors are safely locked behind them, he will kiss her and misunderstand her with a simple, honest delight.

(In another world, he will love her a little more, understand her a little better, and she will trust him a little further. They will save each other from the Project, and they will greet Carolina together when she comes looking for somebody to help her take down the Director.)

But right now, Wash stares at Carolina and York, at what seems like perfection in the way they smile at each other, and he slurps his drink. He remembers the first time he saw them together: in the Project Freelancer locker room, York fresh from the shower, Carolina drenched with sweat from a workout with Maine. He remembers how Carolina grinned as she slapped York's back with her sweaty towel, how he snapped to attention and said, "Yes, _ma'am."_

Wash isn't jealous of their relationship, of the open secret that makes South roll her eyes every time they sit together.

But the way that York was claimed by Carolina— _the_ Carolina, leader of Alpha Squad and their undefeated Number One—so confidently and completely?

Yeah. He's jealous of that.

* * *

In this world, Wash serves the Project that murdered Connie, that turned Maine into a monster. He seldom dares to drink, but when he does, it's shot after shot of vodka, until the memories of Alpha and Epsilon start to blur in his head. (Until he can imagine that Maine and Connie are still beside him.)

Then he meets the Reds and Blues. He works with them, helps them—and they fucking _betray_ him, leave him to rot in prison.

They deserve to have him turn on them, Wash tells himself, fiercely, desperately. He's done being the one left behind and screwed over. Let someone _else_ pay the price for a change, he thinks, and he pulls the trigger on Donut. It's all they deserve.

But in the end, all it gets him is cracked ribs and blood in his mouth, a broken memory unit and no hope left.

"I'm done," he tells Sarge, and lets himself fall into the snow.

"We are going to be best friends," says Caboose, five minutes later when Wash wakes up to find himself half-naked.

"Caboose, _none_ of us are friends," Tucker groans, but he keeps snapping pieces of Church's armor onto Wash.

That night, Caboose gives him orange juice and Tucker gives him tequila and Wash can't believe this is happening, that this is real. That somebody, somewhere, wants to claim him. He sips at his drink and waits for it all to disappear.

But when he wakes up the next morning, Caboose is still slouched against him, snoring. Tucker is still curled up in his chair, the half-empty bottle of tequila cradled against his chest.

Wash thinks, _What the hell. Maybe._

So he lives.

He lives, and that means that eventually, he lives with Carolina.

He lives with her, and he watches her drink from her water bottle after a work-out. He sees the glistening sweat on her arms, he sees the silhouette of her throat, and there's a sudden heat at the pit of his stomach, a _wanting_ that makes his breath shallow.

But he knows: she doesn't want him.

If she did, she would already have claimed him.

Tucker pulls him aside one afternoon after Wash's gaze has been too naked. He says, "Okay, so you want to bang her."

"What?" Wash's voice cracks. "I don't—"

"Dude," says Tucker, "it's simple. You just gotta say, 'Hey baby, did you fall from heaven? Because I've always wanted to bone an angel.'"

Wash stares at him. "You think that line will work. On _Carolina_."

"Well, I mean, it didn't work when _I_ used it, but you're a Freelancer, right? It's gotta work for you."

Wash looks at Tucker, at his wide open eyes and his simple, honest faith. He thinks of how all the Freelancers looked at each other—even York and Carolina, even Wash and Connie—when the numbers changed on the leaderboard. And he thinks again of how he is not worthy of his new team, he has never been worthy. 

But here he is.

And gratefully, wordlessly, he pulls Tucker into a hug.

"Uh, dude—"

"Shut up, Captain Tucker," Wash says into his shoulder, and Tucker grumbles, "Ugh, _fine,"_ but he hugs him back and his fingers find that special spot at the base of Wash's neck.

* * *

"If you lick it," says Grif, "it's yours. Subsection 26.107 of the International Dibs Protocol."

"But mint-chocolate is my _favorite,"_ Simmons wails, as Grif crams half the ice cream bar into his mouth. 

"Mwuh meh yuhh ohhhh," says Grif, and Wash is a little embarrassed at how easily he translates that into _Go get your own._

"That was _the only one,_ you fucker!" Simmons yells, and tackles him.

Wash looks at the pile of ice cream bars, and wonders if he could manage to grab the double-fudge one without Tucker stabbing him—

And Carolina leans over to lick his cheek.

Her tongue is warm and wet and it sends an electric shock down his spine. He can't move, he can't _breathe._ His face is burning hot, and he knows he's turning five different shades of red.

Through the daze, he realizes that both Tucker and Donut are whistling and clapping. And Carolina—she can't mean this, she _can't,_ but she's still beside Wash, her hand pressed into into his spine between his shoulder blades.

"Carolina," he says, and his voice is hoarse—everyone is looking at him, this is the most embarrassing thing he has ever experienced, but Carolina is what matters, Carolina who _cannot possibly—_

"You could've just called dibs," he manages to mutter.

She catches at his chin with two fingers. Turns his face to look at her. 

"Dibs," she says, and only somebody who had been in Project Freelancer with her could hear the doubt in her voice now.

So Wash can only give her one answer.

He takes her hand. Leans forward. Lets his nose nuzzle hers—their lips brush for a moment, and it feels like the world is shivering apart—

She kisses him.

He kisses her back.

Vaguely, Wash is aware of his own heartbeat. Of Carolina's fingers almost painfully locked into his hair. Of Red Team and Blue Team settling up bets around them.

But what he truly _knows_ is just—

 _Carolina_.

Choosing him.

So he kisses her, and chooses her back.


End file.
